


Double Kiss

by Heavenly_Bodies



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2011-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavenly_Bodies/pseuds/Heavenly_Bodies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur knew Merlin was magic with a cue, but he’d never expected that magic to light in his eyes or his laugh. He’d never expected the man behind the player. (snooker!AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> \- Written for [Merlin_Muses](http://merlin-muses.livejournal.com/) Rd 2  
> Prompt 4 _Merlin plays professional snooker and Arthur is his biggest fan._ by emerish  
>  \- Okay, I wasn’t sure how into the snooker scene the prompter actually is, but I hope I managed to make this clear enough for non-snooker fans to enjoy without going overboard.  
> I used some real matches from the 2005 Welsh Open Qualifiers and 2010 UK Championships in this and bastardized some as well (you don’t need to know these games/matches), and I mean absolutely no offense to John Higgins, Shaun Murphy, Jamie Burnett, Rory McLeod, Jonathon Birch, Barry Hawkins, Fergal O’Brien, Marco Fu, Ronnie O’Sullivan, or any other players I may have inadvertently missed, likewise no offense meant to Rob Walker or his masterful MCing of the game.  
> Arthur’s thoughts about Ronnie O are not meant as bashing in any way, I think most of the snooker world agreed upon this assessment, incl the man himself, so no harm meant.  
> Also, I didn’t give Merlin a nick in this, mainly because Wizard, Magician, and even Merlin (and I am so sorry I couldn’t work in a proper Stephen Maquire reference, I really wanted to, but it just wasn’t in the cards) are already in use.  
> \- And to clarify, after my Brit-picker informed me that, to her knowledge, there were no such things as late night, let alone 24hr, restaurants in the UK, I went searching and finally found a list, albeit short, of late night (4AM+) and 24hr restaurants in London. I take this as proof that such creatures do in fact exist and invoke my right to artistic license for the rest, lol.

It’s all about the angles.  
The angles of the cue, of the balls, of the player’s body, of his fingers splayed on the table. It’s _all_ about the angles. And Merlin was all angles. It was like he was built to play the game.

Arthur had been struck the first time he saw the young man play some six years ago. It had been one of the rare times he’d watched any of the qualifying rounds for the Welsh Open. Qualifiers were seldom aired and it usually wasn’t worth the trouble to find a live feed, but he’d been having a hard week and needed the diversion. He’d watched, mesmerized, as Merlin potted shot after shot. Every kiss and cannon flowing into the next as if he had some mystical power over the balls- Murphy and Higgins be damned, the young man on his screen _was_ magic. For just under an hour he’d watched as he quickly reached his best of nine. It was only then that he caught the young man’s name. Arthur had burst out in rolls of peeling laughter; he missed the first 3 frames of the McLeod-Birch match he was so consumed by amusement. Merlin, this magical snooker playing machine was honestly called Merlin.

This was Merlin’s fifth appearance in the UK Championships, though only the third time he’d made it through to the last 32, but Arthur had watched every match he could. There was something special about Merlin, the way he seamlessly flowed with the table. ‘It was part of his mysticism,’ Arthur thought and chuckled at his own absurdity. He was becoming as barmy as some of the announcers, at least when it came to Merlin.

He settled back in his seat, it was only the second day of main tournament play and the Telford auditorium was far from full. It had been a whim that brought him here. Merlin had bested a tenacious Fergal O’Brien in his final qualifying match to advance to the last 32, a fact which hadn’t surprised Arthur in the least, Merlin was just that good and one day soon he was going to go all the way and Arthur would be cheering him on right to the end, and Arthur had finished a proposal for the largest account under his purview the subsequent Friday, what’s more, his unflappable father (and president of Pendragon, Ltd) had been impressed by his work, so he decided he deserved an indulgence. It took surprisingly little to book tickets for the Sunday and Monday sessions and a room in the International Hotel; he’d had to spend more for a far nicer suite than he would normally (his father might not have a problem with taking the best of the best, but Arthur had never been so vain- he loved his creature comforts, but he didn’t need them to be gold-plated), but it was a same day booking when the second largest snooker tournament was being held right next door- he considered himself lucky. He grabbed a quick shower, a change of clothes and his keys, and headed out the door for the two hour drive to Telford.

Arthur watched the commotion at the entryways to the arena where technicians were going through their pre-game checks making sure all the monitors worked and the dolly cameras were ready and cables were hidden away where they couldn’t be a danger to the referees or the players. This wasn’t the first match he’d seen live, but he always seemed to get a tiny jumble of nerves and excitement before each match, the kind you used to get on your birthday or Christmas mornings when you were old enough not to believe in Santa, but still got the thrill of wondering what your presents were. This time the rush was just a little bit more, because, while it wasn’t his first match, it was the first time he was getting to see Merlin play in person. Merlin, who was beyond doubt his favourite player on the circuit. Sure, there were other more experienced players, more flamboyant players, and players that were at the top of their game, but Merlin was something special. Arthur jumped, pulling himself out of his musings, when Rob Walker made his customary pre-game appearance to feel out the crowd and get them in proper spirits for his introductions. As always with these early matches he encouraged the audience to move up to fill out the front seats so the event would look better for the camera before disappearing down the causeway until the session started.

Half hour later they were in the heart of play, Merlin dancing and weaving his magic across the baize, and around Marco Fu’s calm strategic play. Eight frames flew by; Merlin’s cue seemed to sing with energy- a wand wielded by a master. It was all over entirely too soon for Arthur’s liking; he could’ve watched Merlin play for hours more.

Instead, Arthur found himself fidgeting through the Ronnie O-Bingham session, “The Rocket” was not living up to his name. O’Sullivan had missed several tournaments, most all of the non-ranking events and PTC games and it showed, making the frames tedious and trying. Though after the morning session and getting to see Merlin’s display, Arthur wasn’t sure any match would hold his attention. He wanted it to be tomorrow- now.

\---

It was late in the evening or early in the morning, well past 1AM, and Arthur couldn’t sleep. He felt like a child awaiting a day at the amusement park. Tomorrow and its morning sessions couldn’t come fast enough, and at this time of night there wasn’t much on other than never-ending re-runs of _EastEnders_ , so reluctantly he climbed out of bed and into his jeans. This was almost more of a complex than a hotel and the presence of the International Centre made sure that there was always something open, somewhere, for weary and jet lagged travellers to find a beverage and a bite to eat. Arthur hoped the later might ease him into a comfortable sleep. He’d gotten directions from the night concierge to a small restaurant nearby; the man had confided it was one of his late night haunts, either before or after his shift, their food was good, but not fancy like so much of the world around the Centre and more importantly they were open this time of night.

Following the concierge’s directions he came to a large well lit building declaring itself to be The Black Horse, the place was busy, but not overcrowded, and had a warm comforting feel to it- incongruous to its highbrow and lightning speed surroundings. It was just the kind of place Arthur would have sought out at home. A waitress had waved him in and pointed him in the direction of a large empty table, too large for one person, he couldn’t sit there not when they were this busy, but she brushed off his protests smiling indulgently, telling him to sit and someone would be right over. Reluctantly, he wove through the other customers to his table, snatching a copy of the Shropshire Star from the counter as he went.

A medium rare burgher that was actually medium rare, two-thirds a plate of chips, and several cups of tea later and Arthur was just reaching the end of his paper.

“Mind if I sit here?” A melodic and oddly familiar voice filtered to Arthur over the busy noises around him.

“Sure,” Arthur surprised himself answering before he even looked up from his paper to see who he’d invited to join him.

He had a brief moment of fright as hoped his eyes didn’t go as wide as they felt, but that fleeting fear was quickly replaced by horror at the words he blurted out. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Wow, that’s one hell of a pick-up line,” Merlin smiled, “you pull much with that?”

“No! I mean, it wasn’t a line-”

“That’s a relief ‘cause it was rubbish.” He said pulling out a chair to sit.

“Obviously. I only meant you have a match in a few hours.”

Across from him, Merlin chuckled, his smile even brighter without the arena lights blaring down on him. “My coach would agree with you,” he changed his tone to a conspiratorial whisper, “so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell him.”

“Of course.” He answered on instinct.

Arthur sat back, paper forgotten, studying the young man in front of him. Maybe it was the late hour, but Merlin really was beautiful.

“I’m Merlin,” he chirped offering his hand.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I know who you are,” he said, realizing a half beat too late he probably sounded like an arrogant ass.

Merlin’s smile never faltered, “I figured, but didn’t think I was going to get a name out of you otherwise.”

“Oh, sorry.” He shook Merlin’s hand. “Arthur.”

“Nice to meet you, Arthur.”

He snorted, “Sorry if I came off as a bit of a-”

“Prat?” Merlin offered.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” came Arthur’s indignant response.

“I would.” If anything Merlin’s smile seemed to broaden, twinkling merrily in his eyes.

“Idiot,” he whispered, voice tinged with amusement. “Of course, you could’ve just _asked_ my name. I hear that works pretty well for most people.”

“I’ve never been most people.”

Arthur barked out a laugh at that; much as he loved the game, he didn’t think many snooker players, especially the great ones, could ever be considered ‘most people’.

As if drawn by his laughter the waitress who had served him earlier made her way over to their table. “Can I get your friend anything?”

“Yeah, could I get a chocolate ice cream soda?”

She smiled sweetly as if trying not to giggle at a grown man ordering a ice cream soda in the middle of the night. “Sir?” she turned to Arthur, he suspected it was as much to focus her attention as to actually see if he needed anything- he hadn’t needed more than a warm-up for his tea in the last hour. He wasn’t even sure why they had let him stay so long when they were so obviously busy, but now he was more than glad that they had.

He smiled and raised his cup in answer.

She nodded and waltzed away.

“Oh damn!” Merlin started craning his head around looking for their server.

“What’s wrong? She’ll be back; she has to bring us our drinks.”

Merlin casted a patronizing look over his shoulder, the kind a parent would give a particularly trying, yet adorable child. “I didn’t think you’d want to pay for my order.”

Arthur chuckled, “I hardly think an ice cream soda is going to ruin me. Besides, how do you know I wasn’t planning to scarper the minute your back was turned and leave you to pay for both of us?”

Merlin slid back down in his seat, smiling, “You wouldn’t. I can tell.”

“What? So now you’re not just magic on the table, you can see the future?”

His smile turned mischievous, “Only when it comes to ill-mannered prats I meet in seedy bars.”

Once again Arthur found himself laughing richly, “I don’t think this counts as ‘seedy’ or a bar.”

“Does that mean you’re admitting you’re a prat?”

He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help it, he liked Merlin, Merlin the person. “I neither confirm, nor deny anything.”

“Mmm,” Merlin replied thoughtfully, “Then I’ll confirm you are a prat, and deny that you are an incredibly attractive one.”

Arthur’s eyes opened a little wider and he looked sidelong at Merlin. “Really?”

“I’ve always been a man of my word.”

“Then maybe I don’t mind paying for your ice cream soda at all.”

Merlin smiled sheepishly. “Buying me drinks already, I thought you said that wasn’t a line?”

“Shut up, Merlin, before I forget how much I like you.” He stopped his mouth a beat too late. “Your playing I mean.”

Merlin chuckled, eyes scrunching up with amusement, but let the remark slide, he was enjoying this too much.

The silence that followed was soft and calm, enjoyable. It was only broken when their waitress returned bearing a fresh table pitcher of hot water and tea and a large tapered glass with a fat straw sticking out of the mound of whipped cream on top.

They each offered their thanks, neither mentioning separating their bill.

Two hours, three ice cream sodas, and an unhealthy amount of tea later, they were still talking and laughing with, and occasionally at, each other.

Arthur watched in delight as Merlin’s eyes scrunched up as he laughed recounting one of his early misadventures with a cue- apparently he’d been quite the felt ripper and a menace to potted plants everywhere when he was younger.

He was starting to worry. He had lost count of the number of times he’d had to pull himself away from how Merlin’s lips wrapped around his straw sucking lightly, his cheeks hollowing, defining his cheekbones even more, or the way his fingers played around the base of the glass toying with the perspiration surrounding it. He was supposed to be here to watch his favourite player play in the tournament, he wasn’t supposed to be spending time talking and watching and getting entirely too _involved_ with the man. But every time he thought about leaving, making his excuses and returning to the hotel and leaving first thing in the morning so he’d be safely in his own apartment in London before the afternoon sessions began, Merlin would say something or do something that would make him forget about leaving and made him want to stay near Merlin for as long as he’d let him.

“Arthur?” Merlin sounded concerned. “You alright? I’m probably keeping you up aren’t? I’m sorry, I just-”

Arthur’s head snapped up at Merlin’s apologies, he wanted to grab his hand and tell him things that they’d both regret in the morning… maybe… Instead, he smiled and caught Merlin’s eye; they were a deep dark blue like a night sky filled with twinkling stars and made his breath hitch. He shook himself. “No. No, you’re not.” He huff a small laugh, “Actually, I’m enjoying myself. It’s been a while since I did this.” He was sure his cheeks were heating up.

“Did what? Talked?”

“Yeah, just relaxed, no pressure. I don’t get a lot of that.”

Merlin laughed one of his twinkling happy laughs. “I know a little about pressure.”

Arthur chuckled, “Yeah, I guess you do. But I know you’ll be great, you always are.”

It was late and he was more than a little sleep happy, so he might have imagined it, but Arthur swore he saw a faint tint colour Merlin’s face as he asked, “Will you be there? The game?”

“Of course, I’ll be there. That’s the entire reason I’m here.” Once again his mouth had run ahead of his brain, he blamed it on the hour.

Merlin merely quirked his head and smiled. “You should get some sleep; you’re starting to look like something the cat drug in.”

“Thanks.” Arthur frowned. “You’re the one who’s ‘working’.”

“Alright,” he huffed, “we should both get some sleep.”

“That’s better.”

Shaking his head, Merlin rolled his eyes, “Utter prat. Get out of here before I have you thrown out.”

Laughing loudly, “I think we’re more likely to get tossed out together.”

Merlin considered the idea, “You might be right. All the more reason to go now.”

Arthur was still laughing, but gathered himself and stood. They paid their bill and left, walking together back towards the Centre proper. Merlin followed Arthur up to the massive lobby of the International.

“You’re actually staying here?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

Merlin just looked awed and a bit bewildered. “No reason.” Shaking himself, he put on a smile that didn’t quite hold the twinkle from earlier, but Arthur was willing to owe that, like so much else, to the late hour. “I’ll see you in a few hours, then?”

“I already said.”

“Prat.” Merlin bumped his shoulder. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“’night, Merlin.” As he watch Merlin walk off towards his own hotel, Arthur couldn’t help but smile, a softly muttered, “Idiot,” escaping his lips.

\---

Arthur’s stomach was rolling with nerves and he didn’t know why, or did want to admit why. He fussed over his clothes, it wasn’t as if he’d brought a lot just enough for the day and a half he planned to be here. Then he’d gone and met Merlin with his magical smile and scruffy hair and talented hands. He sighed, it was no use, he knew when he was smitten. He smoothed down his shirt. It was dark blue, ‘almost the same blue as Merlin’s eyes,’ he’d thought as he slipped it on, forcing the image of being covered and drowning in Merlin’s eyes from his mind, but not before he felt an involuntary full body shiver. This was ridiculous, he’d met the man once, they’d shared a few hours together, it was nothing to _feel_ this way about, smitten or not. Once again he considered not going to the game and heading home, but his traitorous legs were moving out the door already. With a sigh he reminded himself it was nothing, there was nothing between them. He kept reminding himself of that all the way to the International Centre, into the building, past the ticket counters, down the rows of seating, until he was up to the front row, right next to the player seating- and for once he kicked himself for indulging in the best seats available- even then he kept up his mental mantra, and slowly everything began to return to normal, his heart stopped beating a mile a minute, and he was slowly relaxing into the atmosphere.

Rob Walker came out and did his thing, assuring the audience that game play was only minutes away and Arthur smiled at the normalcy. He convinced himself his earlier emotions were more than nothing, just the product of a late night (never mind that he regularly kept much later nights while working on projects for his father) and lack of caffeine and settled down to watch the last session of the match, so far it was 5-3 to Merlin; he needed four more frames to advance and, while Merlin was an amazing talent, Marco Fu was nothing to be laughed at, when the Hong Kong man was on his game he was a dangerous opponent. These final nine frames could still go either way.

Arthur listened as Rob Walker introduced the players, bristling with unaccustomed pride as Merlin’s match was introduced:  
“On table one, he brought home the singles Gold beating Ding Jinhui last month in the Asian Games, ranked number sixteen in the world. The pride of Hong Kong, Marco Fu!”

The Black Eyed Peas’ _I Gotta Feelin'_ swelled as the Asian entered the arena accompanied by applause and cheers.

“And his opponent a young man who’s quickly becoming a fixture at any ranking event, beating out Tong Drago and winning fierce battle with Fergal O’Brien in the qualifiers earlier this week, a man living up to his namesake, Merlin Emrys!”

Merlin entered smiling and happy, the sounds of _Magic Man_ following him to his seat.

Arthur tried not to feel hurt when Merlin’s eyes didn’t seem to register him, telling himself yet again that it was nothing and trying to focus on the match.

By the third frame Arthur was feeling guilty. Merlin’s game was far from his best, he was making reckless choices and cutting shots in painfully bad ways and he couldn’t help but shoulder some of the blame for keeping him out so late. When they broke for the mid-session interval Merlin had barely managed to hold his two frame advantage. Arthur stood and stretched, debated nipping out to the loo while he had the chance, God knew how long these last four frames were going to drag out.

“Sir?” A man in a dress shirt and slacks called to him over the partition separating audience from players. He was older, with a kindly air about him covering the tight restraint of someone who had to be serious as often as not. “Would you mind stepping back here? Mr. Emrys would like to speak to you.” He explained quietly.

Arthur spared a half a heartbeat to shock then nodded, listening to the man’s instructions on how to reach the staging area.

The man greeted Arthur at the staff only entrance, “I see you made it.” He turned, beckoning Arthur to follow. “I don’t know what you two got up to last night, but Merlin insisted on seeing you the moment he came back from the table.” The man led Arthur to a closed door, where he stopped and set Arthur with a glare, “I should be angry with you for encouraging him, but the truth is I haven’t seen him so happy in much too long.”

Before Arthur could wipe the gobsmacked look from his face, the man was knocking quickly on the door, and opening it, all but pushing Arthur inside.

“Arthur!” Merlin jumped when he saw him then launched himself at him.

The kiss was messy at first, until Merlin’s momentum and limbs sorted themselves, about the same time Arthur’s arms and brain caught up with what was going on.

Arthur pulled Merlin closer, angling his head so the kiss solidified into something deep and heated.

“I have been wanting to do that since that first ice cream soda,” Merlin panted, his fingers ran over Arthur’s lips catching and dragging on the bottom one for a moment. “Then you were here and so calm… I couldn’t think straight.”

“Is that why you were playing so rubbish?” Arthur’s words were full of wonderment and no small amount of pleasure.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Merlin swatted at him. “You don’t get to be self-satisfied about this.”

“I was,” he positively beamed.

Merlin buried his head against Arthur’s shoulder, “Prat, conceited, arrogant prat.”

Arthur chuckled, a smile splitting his face as he rubbed his nose into Merlin’s dark hair, whispering against his ear, “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Merlin hissed in a breath of air, kissing along the taut muscle of Arthur’s neck, “Still a rubbish line.”

“Maybe, but did it work?”

He could feel Merlin’s smile against his skin, “Yeah, it totally worked.”


End file.
